A Slender Thread to Home
by CDS
Summary: Dax develops a long distance pen-pal relationship with a soldier on the front lines.


DISCLAIMER: Star Trek and its various characters, ships, etc. are the property of Paramount pictures and not me. They're not mine, and I'm not making any money off them with this story. I just watch their shows, see their movies, buy their stuff, put their kids through college, pay for their boats, etc.   


A Slender Thread to Home

Dear Lieutenant Dax,   


Sorry about the mix-up. Turns out our messages got re-routed by a subspace transmitter somewhere in the Thaxin Sector. I guess I was lucky my letter got to somebody, since most everybody else in my Company had theirs dumped into deep space. It was kind of embarassing that my letter went to a total stranger, but your reply was real helpful. I don't much blame Rachel for going with that guy in her astro-geometrics class. It's not fair to ask her to wait for me. But still, I'll miss the letters. They're about the only things that keep me going some days. Most of us are like that. We don't question the war or what we're fighting for-hell, it's our very existence on the line here-but we move from one planet or moon to the next, fight, hold defend, retreat, invade, whatever. And then the only thing we have to look forward to is another starship to take us to another planet or moon or outpost. More combat. Sometimes we get shore leave, usually on a starbase. It's fun to put on a clean uniform, sleep in a soft bed, and have drinks with regular people in a bar or club or something, but when it's over and we're on the next ship to the next target zone, we're all lonelier than ever. All that R&R just reminds how far we all are from home.   


So the letters make a difference. Whether they're from your lover or your parents or one of your teachers, it's a little piece of home, and a nice reminder that someone out there cares about you. Strange how much that makes a difference. The Jem'Hadar are bred especially for battle, and the Dominion thinks that makes them ideal soldiers. I think they forget, though, that the fiercest fighters are the ones with something to defend. The Jem'Hadar have that little oath-thing they say before battle, "I am dead..." and all that. Supposed to make them fight harder, but it's when you know you're alive that you fight the hardest. Despite what you may hear about glory in battle and self-sacrifice in the name of Federation, when the disruptor bolts start flying, you'll do just about anything to stay alive.   


Anyway, I've taken enough of your time. This was supposed to be a quick note thanking you for letting me know my message went to the wrong place, and here I am babbling on about the war and letter home and all that. Thanks again. Best of luck to you.   


--Lieutenant (j.g.) Taylor North 

* * *

Dear Lt. Dax,   


Well, what a surprise it was to hear from you again! I honestly didn't mean my last message to be a guilt trip extorting you into writing me back (though, I'm not sure I'm above such a tactic, heh heh heh)...   


It was great to get your message. We'd just pulled out from Absidlin Four, and it was a bloodbath in the end. Our lander had gotten into the atmosphere before the Cardassians and Jem'Hadar took the outpost, but we could see it from the viewports. It was like watching insects overrun a piece of food at a picnic.   


A-Four wasn't much of a tactical position, and the Seventeenth Fleet was moving in just as we were pulling out (what a sight _that_ was!) And began bombarding them from orbit. Still, it's hard to watch your flag fall, no matter what. They piled us into one of those big _Akira_ ships-the _MacArthur_-and so we had some decent quarters for a change. So getting your letter along with a hot shower was the perfect thing after watching all that fighting go so badly.   


On another subject, I used the time on the _MacArthur_ to check your personnel file (at least the parts that were de-classified). To say that I was impressed would be an understatement. You actually serve alongside Sisko? The man's a legend! If I'd known I was communicating with such an esteemed member of Starfleet, I'd've been a lot more respectful in my last messages. Oh well, too late to start now...   


Plus you're darned cute. And a Trill. Don't be offended, but you Trills are a tough lot to get a handle on. I mean, to look at your picture in the file I'd guess you were, what? Twenty-five terran years? All girlish and giggly, but then you come up with some lines like the one in your last message that remind me you've had nine (or however many) lifetimes of experiences. I don't know any Trills, so it's interesting reading your messages.   


Well, right now I'm freezing my butt off on Seltrori-Omega. It's a planetoid about as far from the Seltrori system sun as Pluto is from Sol. We terraformed it, created a self-sustaining artificial atmosphere, but it's still colder than hell. As more of the atmospheric processors get taken out it gets colder and darker. It's like fighting in hell. We wear the newest in Starfleet hostile-environment gear, but it can only do so much. And a heavy concussion near your body can take out some of the micro-thermals, so you're left reliant upon the body-heat it's stored in the fabric. Sometimes, during the night-period, it gets so dark our hand-held lights can barely penetrate. We use fusion flares to mark our position or routes. They burn so hot, they have to be put in special holders that our Chief Engineer devised to keep them from melting through ice and into the planet's crust. But even those don't produce that much light.   


Sometimes I get scared. I think all of us do, but we never speak of it. And I think it's the same fear: one day the dark will just settle in and nothing, not the torches or the flares will be able to cut it, and we'll be all alone. Blind and in the cold. And somewhere there are the Jem'Hadar and somewhere there's the fleet, but they've forgotten about us, and someday all we'll have is what we can feel with our gloved hands and what we can hear in the dark.   


It's crazy, I know, but it's there in the backs of our minds. Captain DeLambry has been sending command communiques requesting we evacuate and establish a rotation of troops in this area. The company that we've joined has been here for ninety-seven days, and they've begun to come apart. We're afraid they're going to vent it all at one another or at us. These people could use a good counselor, but don't take that as an invitation. I wouldn't want to see you here (or not see you, as the case may be).   
  


Damn. Proximity alarm. I gotta go. Talk to you later.   


--Taylor 

* * *

Dear Ezri,   


Thanks for the alpha-wave music chips-you were right, they did help me get a decent night's sleep. Unfortunately, I slept through two assault drills. They were false alarms, of course, but still while the rest of my company was diving for the shielding-blinds, I was copping Zs in my bunk. Still, I appreciate the thought.   


Seltrori is long behind us, so the pressure has eased off a notch, but I feel for the poor troops who are still there. It's a damn, cold rock with no redeeming value, and my sincerest hope is that when the Sixth Fleet sweeps the sector and hits the inevitable Dominion defending force, Seltrori gets caught and demolished in the crossfire (after the troops have been evaced, of course).   


I met a Trill while we were on the troop-carrier _Heller_. The troop-carrier was essentially a box with nacelles, so we didn't have much to do. His name was Koris and he worked Nav. We talked a little bit. He's unjoined, so he's never had to face the challenges you have, but his brother was joined, and it was interesting to hear what it's like from the other side. He talked about how different the man his brother became is from the man he grew up with. I can see why your family is standoffish toward you.   


But I also think you're being too hard on yourself. This war has put a lot of people in positions they weren't fully prepared for. In optimum circumstances, I wouldn't've been put in charge of a platoon for another two years, but here I am with eighteen lives depending on my decisions. Like yesterday when we came under fire, I lost Jason Perret and Dani Melonkowsky. It wasn't much of a battle--searching fire from a Northern ridge--but I deployed the platoon in a defensive position anyway, instead of just staying the shield-blinds. Maybe they'd still be a live if I didn't, but I did and now they're dead and there's nothing anybody can do about it now. Jason had a life-partner aboard the _Bellerephon_ and Dani had a husband and kids back on Alpha Centauri. I don't think about those things.   


But you-you have to be a soldier, a counselor for a station full of people-many of which you'll never see again-and still cope with being a joined Trill. That's not an easy row to hoe, and just the fact that you didn't ditch Starfleet and choose to wait out the transition process in peace on Trill says a lot about you. And even if no one else appreciates your counseling abilities, I sure do. Sometimes I think your messages are the only things keeping me from...I don't know. Not going insane, but I guess they help me remember that there is a world beyond all this fighting and killing. That's really hard to do in the middle of it.   
  


Anyway, enough of this emotional gushing (I'm getting all misty-eyed here-ha ha). I gotta get some sleep. We're shipping out to Tyrus-12 tomorrow, and that's going to be a major action.   


Take care of yourself there on DS9, and remember: you're Ezri Dax and no one else!   


--Taylor 

* * *

Dear Ezri,   


Been awhile, and I don't know if this'll even reach you. They tell us that in the system, the Cardassians are still fighting it out with the Seventh Fleet. They're trying to dump the place full of metogenic warheads, but the Perigrines are pretty good at nabbing those things in the atmosphere. Still, we're all sitting ducks here. But I'm not sure we'd be much better off aboard the ships of the Seventh.   


Tyrus-12 is ours, but what a damn mess this has been. We went in after the atmospheric bombardment, but the Cardassian holds were buried deep and most of the troops and armor wasn't hit. We fought for every inch, took us three hours to gain a kilometer-even with the attack shuttles and hover-guns. If I ever catch up with the guy who invented the Hovering Mobile Gun Platforms, I'm gonna wring his neck! The Cardies use ground-based armor. They walk on six multi-jointed struts like great big insects and you can blow two or three of those struts off and they'll keep coming. One solid hit to a hover-gun's aft end and the repulsor field goes and it comes crashing down. Sometimes I think Starfleet R&D is too damn in love with their own technology.   


Our company was a part of a multi-party landing force. We dropped in with sixteen other Starfleet Airborne divisions, but the atmosphere got choppy as our pods descended, so we ended up off target and in the middle of a hot zone (of course the zone was supposed to be cleared by the time, but the damn hover-guns were all beached by that time). We fought it out until the Twentieth Mobile showed up. Light Armored Support Vehicles. Better than nothing, but only a little. After about an hour they were all taken out, but we could still use their burning hulls as shields. You had to get used to the smell of burning flesh from the bodies inside, but that didn't take long. Except the Bolians-man those guys smell bad when they burn. We were four-hundred guys, but by the time Twenty-Fifth Mobile showed and secured the place, we were down to seventy-two. I think everyone from my old platoon is dead, but I'm not sure. I haven't seen any, but there are a lot of soldiers around here-Federation, Klingon, Romulans.   


My left hand is trembling, and I'm not sure why. I think I may have pulled something in my arm. I feel like I want to cry-been feeling that way ever since the landers showed. I swallow it hard and manage the same dead-eyed look everybody else has and I go about my duties. I don't know why, but I feel like my whole chest is going to explode. I don't think I feel sad. We won, and maybe my company is dead, but I didn't know them that well anyway, and yeah, it was brutal fighting, but where isn't it? I think I'm tired of it. I just want to go home and help my dad on the farm. I think it's almost harvest time in Illinois. But I know if I don't stay and fight, there won't be another harvest time, or an Illinois, or even Earth. Thoughts like that make you do crazy things, like run into the fire and scream and toss your grenades and not even get your ass down. I try not to think of them often.   


I've got your picture in my helmet, because it's the safest place for it. Sometimes it feels like a religious symbol or something. If look at it and think about your cuteness and girlishness and know that it's out there somewhere, then maybe this war isn't so bad. Maybe it's not the sum of all existence. And guys get blown away and spray me with their blood and brains and burn into ash that I run through to dodge the Cardassian gunfire, but it's easier when I know that somewhere you're enjoying a drink at that bar and you're crinkling your nose and talking with your friends in your chirpy voice. The Universe isn't all screams and explosions.   


Sometimes I imagine on the battlefield that I just kill and keep killing and burn a swath through every Jem'Hadar and Cardassian on every planet or planetoid in the damned Alpha Quadrant until my weapon is so hot it buns my hands and the bodies pile so high I can climb them through the smoke-filled sky and passed the blood-red sun and straight out of this hell and all the way to DS9 where I can find you, fall at your feet, feel your arms around me.   


You think a lot of crazy things on the battlefield. Don't pay them much attention. It's getting dark, and I gotta be on point in ten. I'll talk to you later (God willing).   


--North 

* * *

Dear Ezri,   


Got a lump of your messages today, and they were cute. You managed to run the gamut from shocked to apologetic to concerned to angry, and all because one of the Perigrines crashed into a subspace relay and we couldn't download our upload our mail.   


No I wasn't offended by your reaction to my last letter, and I wasn't angry at your initial frostiness and stand-offisness. I shouldn't have written that one. I'd only been out of combat a couple of hours and it was a couple days before I fully got my head on straight after that landing.   


Actually your concerns that you'd hurt my feelings were sweet. Almost like chocolate (if _that_ makes any sense!), because this isn't really a place where anyone is terribly concerned about hurting anyone's feelings. It was sweet.   


But you did hit that one point, and yes, I am in love with you. But you knew that, didn't you? Even if you didn't want to admit it to yourself, you are too good a counselor to miss that one. I don't imagine we'll ever get married and have kids and settle down in a cottage on Lake Geneva, or even that I'll ever meet you after this war is done. But loving you reminds me that I can do more than kill and strategize new ways to kill. It makes me feel like a whole person and a little bit more like all those people back home who have never and will never see this. Being in love with you reminds of what it was all like before I put on this uniform and picked up the gun. Back when I was young and the future was just a playground for me. It's like this thin little line that connects me to home and keeps me from totally getting lost amid the mud and the blood. Some of the guys have. You can see it in their eyes that they'll never make it after this war. They've got nothing more than their daily regiment of killing and defending and what that's taken away, they'll have nothing. But I've got you, if not much else.   


So, Lieutenant, I think I'll keep loving you until the end of this thing, and maybe a little beyond. And I'll just hang on to those fantasies of us and the cottage on Lake Geneva until the day when I don't need them anymore.   


We're moving out. A Sweep-and-Clear, house-by-house. I hate these things. I'll write you a couple times when I get back. Might as well get in a couple of good messages before another Perigrine takes out the relay and deprives us all of our mail again.   


Take care of yourself.   


Love,   
--Taylor 

* * *

Dear Lieutenant Dax,   


It is my sad duty to inform you that while on a mission last evening in the Selkoti province of Tyrus-12, Lieutenant (j.g.) Taylor North was killed while engaging the Jem'Hadar in a house-to-house action. Lieutenant North died instantly and without pain. His contributions as a soldier in the Starfleet Airborne Corps has allowed the war effort to continue to drive the enemy back. The future of the United Federation of Planets will be a thing owed to brave men like Lieutenant North. I hope this will provide you some comfort in your time of grief.   


--Commander Rita Bowen, Starfleet Airborne Corps   
  
  
  



End file.
